Let me describe a feeling. See if you can relate.
I remember being 13 or 14, sitting in ballet class in a circle of other young girls. They all sat conversing as I observed them. I observed them hard, taking in all the subtleties of their facial expressions and body language in response to each other as they spoke and listened in turn. I could easily interpret what each of them were thinking and feeling simply by watching them.
I did this often, the observing hard thing. I did it constantly. Any time I had an opportunity, which meant anytime someone spoke, I would watch them intently and anyone else listening in; I had done it ever since I could remember. I did it naturally. I did it because of all of the information I could so easily glean from the slightest of signals.
As I watched the girls, I knew so much about them—so many small details regarding their inner world, some I doubted they even fully understood themselves, the hidden motivations that drove them. I could see their fears talking and listening, perceive who was jealous of whom, what made each of them more insecure or made them open up. It was so easy to do, like breathing, that I never thought much of it. But in that moment, as I looked at them, I knew that they were not noticing anything beneath the surface, only seeing the things that were openly said and immediately apparent. Whatever I was doing, they certainly weren’t, and there was nothing good or bad or right or wrong about this thought; it was just stating the obvious—we were not the same. I was separate, something other. And this was not a lonely thought, or a difficult one, it was just stating the obvious; it was the way things were. We were not the same.
And 13 or 14 year old me thought, “I am different.”
